


Once Upon a Time's Only Fiction Until Tomorrow Becomes Today

by rossetti



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Deathfic, Kidfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-25
Updated: 2008-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rossetti/pseuds/rossetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year Virginia Dale Wentz turns five her parents die in an accident aboard a chartered day-boat to Catalina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time's Only Fiction Until Tomorrow Becomes Today

Ashlee and Pete marry in a small civil ceremony (one judge, a notary and Patrick) seven minutes after they apply for a marriage license (seventy two hours after Ashlee returns from her gynecologist). Despite this somewhat inauspicious beginning, Ashlee and Pete are overwhelmingly happy.

Pete declares that he intends to be the best father in the world, and, to only his surprise, makes that statement as true as it can be. He's a great father.

The year Virginia Dale Wentz turns five her parents die in an accident aboard a chartered day-boat to Catalina.

Ryan writes a song about a tragic prince who disappears only after he's attained perfection. Panic plays the rough, unnamed song live only once, the next day, the opening night of the _Latitude_ tour (supporting their fourth album, _This Longitude's Only Dangerous For One Of Us_). They never officially record the song, never even title it, but the bootleg (most often named panicheartspetewentz.mp3) spreads like wildfire in the void left when the rest of the tour is canceled.

Pete had declared Spencer to be Ginny's guardian.

**

Spencer takes Ginny to the memorial, still in a daze from the lengthy phone calls, paparazzi, lawyers, plane rides and hugs. She doesn't seem to understand, just hold onto Brendon's hand and doesn't look up from the ground. Spencer had been there, hovering, watching when she'd had a screaming fit in Patrick's arms, yelling that her Mama and Pepaw would be back soon, stop saying they wouldn't be. Spencer stays on Brendon's other side, wishing he knew what to do, wondering why Pete would leave his daughter to him. He could list, easily, twenty people on Pete's speed dial that spent more time with Pete, knew Ginny better, had children. Wanted to have children.

It's only been one week

Ryan and Patrick sit together, bookends of grief supporting Joe, who appears only vaguely aware. Jon and Cassie sit behind them, the rest of the Chicago contingent fanning around and behind them, spilling out almost endlessly.

Ginny pulls away from them and runs towards Frank Iero's daughters as soon as everyone starts to stand up. Spencer's heart leaps to his throat when he loses sight of her. He rushes after, ignoring the concerned gazes and what he's sure are meant to be kindly touches, concentrating only on where he last saw her, where he last saw Frank. He mentally curses at Frank for being no taller than Ginny, and stops short when Frank appears suddenly twenty feet to his left, clearly standing on a chair. His face is solemn as he waves Spencer over in a hurried manner, but Spencer's heartbeat slows down.

He tries not to hover as Ginny and Bella and Cesca whisper together. Frank distracts him with some small talk that Spencer mostly ignores until he realizes that Brendon is now standing on his other side, taking over the burden of actually conversing with Frank. He tunes in to hear the end of a discussion about what he hopes are children's shows; the names all sound like they contain exclamation points.

Later, Spencer will drive back to Vegas with a napping Brendon in shotgun and Ginny asleep in a car seat behind him. The car will be packed full of things Spencer had randomly taken from Ginny's room while Ginny talked to Gabe on videochat. Brendon shows up at the house as Spencer tries to explain slowly, for the third time, that, yes, he's going to take care of her, but, no, he doesn't own her, just as his patience is rubbed raw. She brightens from her sullen pose and asks if Brendon is coming with her, and Spencer agrees without looking at Brendon. If Brendon had made other arrangements, he doesn't say anything.

Spencer drives directly to his parents' house. He carries Ginny up to his old room while she's still sound asleep from the drive and falls asleep curled around her, but not holding her down. In the morning he wakes up and finds her gone but he doesn't panic. He takes a quick but thorough shower and sends a silent thanks to whoever shoved his duffel into his room. He dresses slowly, staring into the mirror, trying to figure out if he's different, if he looks like someone that can take care of a five year old girl.

Spencer doesn't know how to be alone with her yet.

He goes down to the kitchen and finds the aftermath of what he assumes was his mom making Brendon and Ginny pancakes, but is now Ginny sitting on his mother's lap talking about her favorite fruits and Brendon chiming in while he eats. Brendon looks up when he comes into the room and asks if he wants any.

"They're whole wheat with blueberry," he says solemnly, "but we're negotiating what to use next time."

"I want banana. They get all crispy, yum yum." Ginny nods firmly, looking up at him.

"Why not chocolate chip?" he asks, surprised.

"That's only for special times," she responds, leaning back into his mom's arms. "Like my birthday and Valentines day." She darts a look at Brendon and an overly innocent expression covers her face. "But if you want them every day, we can have them every day."

"I like strawberry," he manages to blurt out nearly thirty seconds later, as he's overwhelmed with trying to figure out what he should say. If she wants chocolate chip pancakes, he thinks she should have some fucking chocolate chip pancakes, but should he set boundaries? He doesn't even know how to make good pancakes. She shrugs in response, ignoring him again, and sits up to reach for another piece of pancake.

They stay there for a few days, Brendon coming and going as easily as Ryan used to, until Spencer's mom bullies Spencer and Ginny into going to the supermarket with her. Ginger drives them back to Spencer's place, after. Spencer takes the hint. And the groceries.

**

"Justin, I want Justin!"

Ginny's been crying for half an hour and Spencer wants to throw something or pull at his hair or maybe just run away. She just keeps crying and asking for Justin and Spencer has no clue who Justin is.

When she'd first started, just whimpers really, he'd rocked her in his lap for a while, until she was nearly asleep. He'd been congratulating himself when she'd shot awake again and started to sob. She's refusing to let him touch her, now.

Finally, he steals her kidkick (Spencer laughed himself sick when he first heard the nickname; only Pete) and flips through the speed dials. The first five are different numbers for Pete and Ashlee, which Spencer notes so he can change later, then Brendon, Gabe and Patrick.

Spencer calls Brendon.

 

Justin, Spencer learns, is Ginny's stuffed snake, given to her by Gabe on her fifth birthday. She likes to sleep either curled around Justin, or with Justin curled around her. Spencer has no clue why she hasn't brought this up before now. Shouldn't he have noticed?

Spencer has no clue where Justin might be. When Brendon walks in from the garage with a purple shag _thing_ draped around his neck it doesn't occur to Spencer _that_ might be Justin until Ginny's wrapped in Brendon's arms. This time she's sobbing thankfully. Spencer has to walk down the hall, shake his arms out. He knows he's not angry at Brendon, it just takes a minute or two to remember that.

**

Spencer opens the letter on a Wednesday. He first heard about Pete and Ashlee on Sunday, he thinks, and had received the life changing call from a lawyer on Tuesday. Time's blurred since then, but he knows it's Wednesday when the letter arrives, couriered with a stack of legal documents. Spencer opens it only when Ginny is asleep, sacked out in his bed after refusing to leave his side.

He wants to pour himself a drink as he weighs it in his hands, tracing his name in Pete's terrible, scrawly handwriting, but he won't, can't, knows he needs to face this sober.

The letter is short and sly, but raw. Just like Pete, Ryan croaks, when Spencer lets him read it.

> "Spencer James Smith the Fifth!
> 
> You are the man set to inherit, if you will, my daughter. You're damn lucky, she's amazing.
> 
> Look, it would be irresponsible of me to not do the paperwork thing, and you're the best person for the job. You'll take care of her, but won't spoil her, and, let's be honest, you won't be a huge mess if something happens to me, unless there's something I'm unaware of, and I'm pretty perceptive about these things. If you had a crush on me, I'd know.
> 
> I don't feel you need this said to you, but I need to say it: don't fuck up. Be an awesome father. Don't just be a guardian."

 

Pete is correct, Spencer is not a mess over his death. He never, ever feels guilty for that.

**

Brendon tries to move in with him after Ginny's been there for a couple of weeks. Spencer makes a half-hearted protest but Ginny's pout over the breakfast table makes him turn the potential barb into a joke.

Spencer knows it's unfair to think of his life as falling into two parts: before and after Ginny, with the before being the carefree, fun chunk and the after being the serious, responsible part. He's always been responsible, as an adult. But now he has to be, and that makes it worse, somehow.

The house Spencer owns is really a house for all of Panic. They wrote their third and fourth album here. It's been their practice space, their headquarters. Everyone's crashed one time or another. Spencer had decided to purchase it half because he was sick of pretending to live in a house mostly purchased for his ex-girlfriend and half because his mom had gently put her hand on his arm after the _Easy Conquests As Easily Forsaken_ tour and demanded that he get his ass out of her house if he was going to continue being a rock star. "The stalkers are getting annoying."

**

"I don't have to go to bed now. It's too early." She won't even look at him, even though he's turned off the television. She's still focusing on the dark screen.

"We've talked about this, Ginny, your bedtime is eight p.m. You do need to go to bed now." He's being good, being patient. They've been having this argument for fifteen minutes. Spencer's been reading some books, knows he needs to keep his boundaries firm and be patient but authoritative with her.

"Dad used to let me stay up later."

"Maybe, but, -"

"Are you calling me a liar?" She's glaring up at him from the couch, now.

"No, Gin," he sighs. He has no clue what to say, really, but that ceases to matter when she lashes out. Her small fist manages to catch him squarely on the thigh. It doesn't hurt so much as shock him

"YOU DON'T GET TO CALL ME THAT," she shrieks, hitting him again. "THAT'S DADDY'S NAME FOR ME!" That part ends in a sob, fat tears welling in her eyes.

"Shh, shh," Shit, he shouldn't say anything like 'it's ok,' should he? He catches her hands, a little afraid she'll hit something important, and collapses down on the couch next to her. She bats at him as he tries to get her settled in his lap. When he gets her sideways and starts rubbing her back her shrieks turn to sobs. He keeps his left hand going in smooth circles on her back and taps out a slow rhythm on her thigh. She gets quieter and turns to sniffle against his chest a five minute eternity later.

"I want my mommy and daddy," she whispers.

Spencer blinks at the ceiling, trying to hold his own tears in, and whispers back, "me too," then cradles her until her breathing evens out and she gets heavy and soft in his lap. When he picks her up to carry her to her room she feels lighter than a kick drum in his arms.

 

Ginny's cried herself out and Spencer needs Ryan. Spencer's glad for Brendon's presence, now, because he barely needs to start asking before he's out the door, Brendon's solemn nod behind him.

Spencer knows he's keyed up but doesn't know what exactly to do about it. He tries not to feel like he's running away but is, instead, just going to hang out with his best friend, like he normally would. If he weren't living some bizarro life where Pete Wentz's daughter is sleeping in what he used to call a spare room.

He can tell Ryan's already a little baked when he gets there. Ryan is making vegetarian nachos.

He sheds everything he can near the door: keys, 'kick, hoodie, shoes, wallet. It doesn't feel like enough. He wonders, suddenly, if he'll ever be able to walk around naked in his own house again, comfortably. It'll always be while Ginny is at school or sleeping or _something_. It'll be defined by her, instead of by his bandmates, who don't care if he's naked but might mock him.

He's been staring at his small pile of stuff on Ryan's side table long enough that Ryan's shoved the nachos into the oven and come over to hover next to him.

"Do you need to burn anything?" Ryan asks, winding an arm around Spencer's waist, resting his forehead briefly on Spencer's shoulder.

"You gonna, what, let me put a cherry bomb down your trash chute?" he turns and smirks at Ryan. "That's, like, _so_ 2001."

Ryan just shrugs. "Gotta let it out somehow, man," he emphasizes with a tap to Spencer's sternum. Ryan drifts away a few seconds after that dramatic flair, with a, "sit, at least?"

He joins Ryan on the couch when he's ready, on his own time. And mostly so he doesn't feel stupid hanging out in the doorway. Ryan presents him with a perfectly rolled joint.

"Stay the night. Unwind." After he gives Spencer the lighter his grin gets stupid, but he waits until Spencer is inhaling to add, "Suck my dick? It'll take your mind off everything."

Spencer rolls his eyes as he exhales. "Thanks for caring about my pain, Ross." He considers it, looking between the joint and Ryan. "It's been a while, for us."

"You didn't lose the ability, did you?" Ryan leans into him, eyeing the joint. "That'd be sad."

He takes one more drag before dumping Ryan off his lap and ashing. "I didn't say it'd been a while since my mouth was on cock, I said it'd been a while _for us_." He takes another quick drag and hands it off to Ryan, as he would have done sooner if Ryan hadn't been so blatant. He arches back, trying to relax into the couch, then stretches his arms out and flops his head back, but the tension is still under his skin.

Ryan, with a joint in his hands, always looks gorgeous and tragic. He looks like 60s b-roll or a Warhol short: delicate, just a shade too much so, but overwhelmingly beautiful and compelling. He curls into it, relaxes down into the experience. Maybe sometime it wasn't like this, Spencer thinks, but this is what he'll always remember.

"Dude," Ryan says after he hands it back, later enough that Spencer has to pause to remember what they were talking about. "Don't be pissy. This is the way we are." He pulls his hair past his eyes but doesn't tuck it behind his ear and smiles beatifically. It's a motion they'd learned from each other.

Spencer inhales and rolls Ryan's words around his head. He's right, but wrong, in that Ryan way. They couldn't even be called on-and-off. They'd never held this, the sex part, over each other; they'd never held onto each other. They'd never needed to.

He leans in close and whispers, "We're eternal, Ryan," breathing it into a shotgun, sealing his mouth gently over Ryan's, feeling again the light touch of Ryan's thin lips. Ryan's long, jambed knee is pressing into his side, but it's not uncomfortable. Spencer feels Ryan's fingers walk slowly up his arm, still draped over the couch, but Spencer concentrates on tracing the imperfect join of their lips with his tongue. When they reach his shoulder, Ryan's fingers grip him; he pulls, fiercely, twisting his knee out of the way in a coordinated move Spencer didn't expect. It's all Spencer can do to keep the joint safe as they collapse, reshuffle together.

Ryan prizes the joint out of his hand, tokes, then hands it back before pressing one firm hand into his chest. "Stay."

After he climbs off the couch and heads to the kitchen Spencer stretches out to ash, leaning as far as he can, then settles back into his tingly skin slowly as he nestles into the couch. He flings one leg over the back and rubs his heels into the soft upholstery, finally relaxing. He stares at the winding smoke from the joint and contemplates the upper class luxury of not smoking his illegal substances efficiently as Ryan changes the music from something dirty, jazzy to the Rolling Stones.

"Gimme something to drink!" he yells just before Ryan reappears with a plate of nachos and a liter of diet cherry Pepsi.

"Whoah. Fast service!" he says, making sure it's slow and clear and cheesy. He grins at Ryan's sour expression. "Are you worth a good tip?"

Ryan turns so his ass is above Spencer's face and shakes it, a little unsteadily. "I always am, fucker," he mumbles and leans forward to set everything down, pushing his ass closer to Spencer's face.

"Yet, somehow, I want nachos more than your ass," Spencer places one firm hand on said ass and pushes.

Ryan delicately avoids falling by stepping away. "That's only cause you're freshly stoned. I get my cock out and you'll want some, I bet."

Spencer distracts Ryan by shoving the joint up at him as he struggles to sit up and grab for the food.

"Mmm," they both moan at the same time. Ryan chokes on his exhale and collapses on the couch, laughing. Spencer swallows and grabs the last of the joint _and_ the Pepsi in one fell swoop, exhaling his glorious, victorious puff in Ryan's direction.

They eat, swigging at the drink in turns and splitting the cheese evenly. Spencer starts giggling when Ryan gets two hands on the bottle and tilts it upwards and can't quite figure out how to tell Ryan that he looks like those Coke commercials with the baby polar bear without sounding like an idiot so he just doesn't try. He does shove the overabundance of black beans at Ryan.

"You know you don't have to suck my dick, right." Ryan doesn't quite ask when the nachos are nearly gone and their crunches are slow and methodical and more about biting down than eating.

He throws a chip at Ryan and contemplates. "If I felt I'd ever have to I wouldn't have in the first place," is what he settles on, pretty sure that covers it.

Ryan hmms in response and nods. The exchange is largely perfunctory, but they've learned the long way not to let things stay unsaid. Spencer takes one last sip and tries to wiggle back into his comfortable position on the couch, which now would involve being mostly under Ryan and horizontal. Ryan doesn't fight him but doesn't help him, just smirks and lets his limbs go where they will until Spencer asks huffily for him to get with the program. Then he settles in, fitting their bodies together.

Spencer floats and listens to Ryan humming along with the music. He pulls his fingers along the cottony stretch of Ryan's thin t-shirt and webs his toes open and closed until he's nearly asleep. He jerks awake when Ryan shifts and snores a bit, which jerks Ryan awake in return. They stumble together, glassy eyed and mostly asleep, until they find Ryan's bed. Spencer falls asleep with the reassuring weight of Ryan's head on his chest.

 

Spencer sleeps face down, mostly. He'd read an article once about what that's supposed to indicate about his personality and was kinda unhappy, but it's so comfy, so natural. It's the way he sleeps, he really can't change now.

Spencer's a pretty heavy sleeper and his brain stopped registering Ryan as someone he should wake up for a long time ago. Spencer can't decide if this is a good or bad thing when he wakes up, drifting from sleepily turned on to wide awake, and realizes Ryan is finger fucking him.

"Oh jesus!" he blurts, pushing up to his elbows. "Ginny!"

Ryan pulls out. "That is so wrong, dude. Ew." He presses one hand down in the middle of Spencer's lower back. "I called Bren. They're fine. You can chill." He circles one finger around Spencer's hole, slowly.

He drops back down. "Chill?"

"Mmm, kinda. C'mon, you used to love this," Ryan slides two fingers back in, fast. "Morning sex, man, you know you want it."

And he does; a good, indulgent round of it always makes him happier. They haven't had morning sex in a long time because Spencer's been distancing himself, slowly, since Ryan and Hannah hit the two year point. Ryan's never had a relationship that has kept him from Spencer, but that's partially because Spencer doesn't try to hold onto Ryan too hard.

They'd learned everything about sex together, mostly. For a long time, Spencer's default sexuality had just been _Ryan_. Ryan and hand jobs, Ryan and blow jobs, Ryan and fingers and lotion and come leaking out of him.

It had broken his heart, just a little, the first time Ryan had blushingly stopped and pulled out a condom, avoiding Spencer's eyes.

He'd pushed Ryan away and made him explain. While Spencer had been studying at the sex school of Ryan, Ryan has been at the sex school of "mostly women."

Still. Since Spencer can appreciate the appeal of breasts and hips, and since Ryan is Ryan (and Spencer's forever), they'd worked it out.

Ryan pulls out again, and Spencer whimpers in protest. Ryan laughs a bit, sounding delighted, and spreads Spencer out further after he pulls him up on his knees. "C'mon, pillow biter."

He flips Ryan off then snuggles into the pillow. He's not tired or sleepy but he feels only half awake, soft and syrupy. The sound of Ryan opening the condom seems far away.

Ryan slides into him, slow and easy, and stays there until Spencer wiggles around, needing movement.

"Shh," Ryan drags a hand from his hip to his ass, pulls him open further. He thrusts lightly a few times, not enough for Spencer. "Jus', lemme. Enjoy."

"Oh my god, you're high, aren't you!?" Spencer blurts out as he wakes up a bit more, putting together the dots.

"Just one hit, I swear!" Ryan exclaims. "_After_ I'd called Brendon," he adds, drawing back a bit further than before.

"Well, fuck." Spencer's fully awake now. "No _way_ you're in charge, then. He pulls forward, away, not away enough. "Pull out, and don't lose the condom."

Ryan obeys, reluctantly.

"Go sit at the head of the bed," he orders. "I'll just have to ride you."

 

Spencer showers quickly but indulges with Ryan's boutique products. He'd cat napped after they finished, lazing in the feeling that he could, until he'd looked at the clock and felt the press of the minute hand.

"I think I'm going to pick up some lunch on the way home. Wanna come?" It hasn't escaped Spencer that Ryan's been avoiding his house.

Ryan flips his sidekick closed and makes a face. Spencer doesn't know what it's supposed to say, he just knows it's fake."I dunno, man."

"Ryan," he starts before he thinks. Their clothes are back on now, Ryan hasn't smoked again. Yet. There's a shimmer of an emotional wall separating Ryan's truths and his feints. "Ryan, you have to come see her sometime. Let's just get some subs and go to my place." He makes it sound offhand, easy.

Ryan brushes his hair out of his eyes. "Ok."

**

Ginny practically throws herself into the back of the car and won't look at him as she buckles her seatbelt and crosses her arms. He rolls his eyes and restarts the car. By the time they're halfway home she's sighed eight times and resettled into a different pouting posture twice.

At the next sigh he sighs in response and finally asks, "what's wrong?"

"I hate this town. Everything's wrong." She sounds like Ryan at thirteen. She's five.

Spencer's talked to Ryan's therapist on the phone a few times, trying to figure out if and when something like this would happen. He doesn't want Ginny to go in quite yet, not if it's not necessary.

"Ok." He decides to try reasoning with her, treating her as an adult. She deserves it. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Mrs. Reid is stupid. She's mean or too nice, and when she's too nice I can tell she's just being nice cause of Pepaw and Mama. And we never have sushi, not even the vegetarian kind without fish. And you don't have a pool. And I hate this stupid uniform." She pulls at the grey skirt that falls to her knees after she stops, and ends with a quiet, "And I don't understand why Hemmy couldn't come with me."

Pete's will had declared Joe Hemmy's owner.

He's quiet for a moment, thinking. "Ok. If you want, I can talk to Mrs. Reid, but maybe you should give her a few more weeks, let her get used to having someone as feisty as you in her class. I'm sure Brendon knows somewhere we can get good sushi, he loves that stuff. There's nothing I can do about the uniform or the pool, except, hmm, I bet Ryan would let you use his pool." He stops to clear his throat, a little anxious. "And if you do your research on dog breeds, we can talk further about getting one."

Spencer is nearly deafened by her shriek of excitement.

 

Spencer doesn't exactly forget about the dog discussion but, to his knowledge, Ginny never researches dog breeds. Or, if she does, she doesn't talk to him about it. And, really, there were more important undercurrents to that conversation, he's more focused on calling the school and researching sushi than he is dog proofing his kitchen.

Which was clearly his mistake. She's too smart to just drop something like that, and of course she'd heard the implicit yes in his prevarication.

He just didn't expect Brendon to be in cahoots with her.

"Is that Dylan?" he whispers to Brendon, after the commotion has died down.

"Uh huh!" Brendon grins in Ginny's direction.

"Brendon - that's _Dylan_," he says, still whispering. "Did you kidnap your ex-dog from your ex-boyfriend?"

Brendon's back stiffens. "No. We re-negotiated. I have full custody now." He still won't look in Spencer's direction. "And he's not my ex-boyfriend."

Spencer was there the weekend Brendon moved out of their house, two weeks after Shane got engaged. Neither Shane nor Brendon would talk about it, but the silence had been stiff and uncomfortable. A month after, Brendon had called for a press conference. Pete had handled the arrangements personally and then locked himself in a room with Brendon just before the conference started. Brendon had walked out loose and relaxed and with his shoulder squared, the first time he'd appeared truly confident in months. He'd been reserved, for Brendon, reserved but radiant.

They'd never talked about it, as a band. How he lived his life was Brendon's decision, and so was his decision as to how he wanted to self-label his sexuality. It was also his decision as to how much of his world he wanted to be honest with about his sexuality.

Spencer is proud of him. He knows Brendon craves approval and that his decision had permanently sealed off the source of approval he'd been struggling with since Spencer met him. Spencer likes to think that they, that Panic, had given Brendon the space and the approval he'd needed to make his choices, but he knows Pete provided the final push.

"Thank you, Brendon," he hugs Brendon, slouches down and weasels his shoulder under Brendon's arm. "You're our hero."

**

Inevitably, there are interviews. They've canceled an entire tour, that doesn't go unpunished. Spencer wouldn't want it to, it would mean no one cared, but he really wishes that he could escape the interviews themselves.

He might not want to do them but he recognizes that it's in everyone's best interest for him to say something, anything. A statement from just the band isn't enough. Pete was his own presence, outside of Fall Out Boy, and now Spencer must be his own presence outside of Panic.

He has Rachael schedule a half-day of back-to-back interviews on a Thursday, and asks Jon to pick Ginny up from school. She's been asking about Dylan and Clover, now known as Not-Dog-Dylan and Clover. Cats are still novel for her, and Spencer figures Dylan is enough of a mellow, mature cat that Ginny will be unscathed. Jon agrees to lock Clover in the bathroom if he gets claw-y.

Ryan shows up, unasked, up at the hotel suite Rachael had booked. He's still crap at giving interviews. Ryan gives away too much, answers too honestly. He pauses and formulates a heartfelt answer to each question, and Spencer remembers why they slowly pulled Ryan away from live interviews.

Still, he's pathetically grateful to have Ryan there.

**

He takes to calling Frank every morning, trying to establish a baseline on normal for five-year-old-girl-moods. Crankiness, normal. Naps, normal. Bossiness, kinda normal. Screaming fits, not really normal. Nightmares, not normal at all. Aversion to green foods, oddly, normal. Aversion to red foods, for some reason, not normal.

Talking to Iero is nicer than he thought it would be. He knows there was never anything serious behind the fake slur campaign that dominated MTV News for half of 2010. It had just been something Brian and Pete cooked up after their hilariously disastrous SURS appearance, but he's never spent enough time with any of the MCR guys to be sure they don't care in the same way. Frank's always seemed pretty busy, anyway, between being a dorky punk and a father.

Gerard's on the Today Show one morning while he's on the phone with Frank, talking about his upcoming children's book. Spencer vaguely remembers Gerard being tentative in interviews, remembers from before he'd known, personally, how difficult being interviewed could be. This Gerard cannot be described as tentative. He's still random; Spencer appreciates the way Gerard's randomness allows him to guide the interview, particularly now as he watches Elizabeth Hasselbeck try to railroad him into describing the entire plot of his book. He can't help but think it's a bad decision to treat The View as a talent pool.

"Really, you see, it's simple. It's about this kid learning that he should love everyone, boys and girls. And, really, I wrote it for Frank, Frank Iero, in my band? Well, Frank's daughters, but Frank. Because I love him. You could call him the love of my life." Gerard looks directly into the camera as he says this, the camera that cuts immediately to Elizabeth's somewhat horrified face.

Frank laughs on the phone, loud in his ear. "She must've done something to piss him off. Look at him go. Awesome little fucker."

"Dude, this is making my day. Think I could buy a crate of his books and donate them somewhere?" Spencer wonders if the libraries in Nevada take donations.

"I think he'd sign 'em for you, too. Aww, did you see that? He just winked at Matt Lauer!" Frank giggles.

"Your entire band is married. To women. And you're still collectively gayer than Brendon." Spencer stops, feeling this is enough, but can't help adding, "_who came out last year_."

**

If Spencer never thought he'd end up with a child, he _really_ never thought he'd end up with a Kitchen Aid, half-fleshed dreams of attending culinary school nonwithstanding.

He'd been watching television with Gin (well, she'd been watching "Kid Eats with Alton &amp; Elton" and Spencer had been on his ProBook catching up on email) when she'd turned to him and said "We should do that tonight for dinner."

When he glances up there's a homemade pizza on the projection.

"I dunno, we do pizza more than we probably should." Brendon has a list of places he likes to order from when it's his turn to provide dinner. Pizza is high on the list.

"No, not buy pizza, _make_ pizza." She's been hopping around the room, to some design of her own, retracing steps and counting occasionally. Spencer hadn't thought she was paying much attention to the television wall.

He googles "elton brown pizza recipe" and responds with a neutral, "hmm," when he finds out that first step involves asking your parents for help with either a mixer or a food processor. "I dunno. How about tomorrow night?"

"Why not now?" she has her hands on her hips, facing him.

"We'd need to buy stuff to make it. _If_," and he makes sure to emphasize this, "you're serious about actually helping me cook."

"Like pepperoni? And tomatoes? And cheese?" she jumps up and down, "ooh! Can we make a Hawaiian pizza?"

He gives up in the face of her enthusiasm. "Yes." The recipe flashes on his screen and he remembers, "but we need more than food type stuff. We need, like, kitchen stuff. A mixer, at least."

"So," her eyes gleam. "Shopping trip?"

He grins in response. "Shopping trip. After school."

 

"Ok, Elton says you have to do everything with the sharp knives until I get to a certain age."

"A certain age?" he asks, eyeing the heaped pile of vegetables next to the chopping board. "What age, because this is going to take me forever."

She sighs loudly. "_I_ don't know, he said _you'd_ know. Or, like, my parents would know or whatever."

He grabs a mushroom to avoid looking at her. "How small?"

**

Insomnia has always been Ryan's thing, not his. Spencer has always been able to fall asleep and stay asleep when he needs, doesn't matter if they're backstage, on a bus, on a plane, at a hotel, whatever.

Which is why he's not going to call this waking-up-at-four-am-thing insomnia. It's not; he has his own comfy bed in his own house, he's been going to bed shortly after Ginny does. He's clearly getting _too much_ sleep, and that's why he's awake early on a Thursday morning. Clearly.

He pads downstairs, having decided that time before the sun rises is clearly time best spent on his kit. He slows down halfway down the steps to the practice studio when he hears the piano. He doesn't know what Brendon is playing but it's complicated, quick and lively but to a moderate tempo.

He creeps the rest of the way to the door, just to the edge of the room, and settles in against the frame. He can tell that Brendon is being self-indulgent by his posture. He's textbook perfect, relaxed with his elbows at his side, fingers rounded. He's worthy of a concert hall, energy focused inward and on the music, not on the show. Spencer's been listening to a click track for most of his life it seems, can hear the minute variations in tempo as Brendon climbs his way through the piece. _Sometimes_, Spencer reminds himself, _art is a struggle_.

Brendon looks up at him, sharply bright eyed. Spencer clears his throat and straightens, taking a half step away.

"I'm heading over to Ryan's. Can you get Ginny to school?"

Brendon nods, turning away from him, and starts playing scales.

 

Spencer remembers, when he wakes to Ryan watching him from the bay window.

Once it wasn't just him needing Ryan, once it was them needing each other. When they'd been fresh to the road, not in love but familiar with each other and close to everything they'd always talked about. It had all been so, so good. Uncomplicated and comforting, and never bad.

Or maybe it was bad at times and Spencer just can't remember, now. He can't think of one time, specifically, he only feels the weight and the memory of every time, of Ryan slipping into every crevasse in his life. He will always love Ryan. He can still curl under Ryan's arm; he shouldn't be able to with the height and weight differences between them.

It doesn't surprise Spencer, Ryan's need to watch, to observe, to absorb the world through his eyes. It never has.

**

Brendon's the one that figure out Ginny needs glasses.

"There's no way you could've known," Brendon tries to soothe him as they wait in the optometrist's reception area. Spencer glares at the display cases. He'd found the doctor with the biggest kid-and-young-adult selection in Las Vegas, but he hadn't expected the overwhelming array of colors and shapes before him.

"I mean, I guess you could've. But if you're going to blame yourself, blame her doctor first. He didn't notice." Brendon speaks from where he's sitting on the floor, flicking through a stack of _Highlights_.

"I'm not blaming anyone," he mutters after he puts his sunglasses on and slumps back against the wall.

Brendon snorts. "Like hell you aren't." He drops the red issue after he finishes circling all of the hidden fish and stands to sit next to Spencer.

"Look. You don't know everything, ok? You're not able to predict everything she'll need," he takes a deep breath and firmly grabs Spencer's thigh, "neither could Pete. Or Ashlee. That's the shitty part of being a parent. And that's ok. I'm here to help. Or someone else would be. Or would have been, with them." Brendon's squeezing his knee now, hard. "You're not alone, Spencer."

Spencer slumps gently into Brendon, slides down with strands of his hair still adhering to the wall, pulling his scalp back and making him close his eyes.

"I know," he murmurs. "But jesus, B. I'm a 26 year old bisexual drummer who finished high school by correspondence. And she doesn't deserve any more shit happening in her life, ok?"

Brendon doesn't say anything, just slings an arm around Spencer and starts making soft, comforting sounds.

"I'm not crying, you fuck," he mutters into Brendon's ear. "I'm just saying," he begins, after Brendon stops cooing, then pauses. "I'm just saying," he tries again, barely above a whisper, "I can't guarantee this won't be too much for me. And," he swallows the betrayal creeping up in his throat. "I miss touring. I miss playing, all of it."

"You're not a bad father because you miss your life from before," Brendon says gently, re-firming his hold when Spencer stiffens. "And we love Ginny, just like we love you. Don't wait until it's almost too much before you ask for help, ok? Because all you need to do is ask. I'm here. Literally, too." his voice lightens, turning the end into a joke, easing the urgency of the statement.

"Thank you," he responds with weight, for more than just the words. They stay together, Spencer's thumb tapping out a 7/8 rhythm on Brendon's thigh, Brendon rubbling lightly at his shoulders in 3/4, until Ginny runs out saying she wants purple glasses, just like Brendon's.

**

Spencer wasn't jealous when Ryan and Brendon started sleeping together. He was, in fact, convinced it needed to happen the first time Brendon came to audition - rehearse - with them. The moment Brendon had opened his big lips and sang, some random bit of nonsense to echo Ryan, he'd seen. Ryan had stopped staring at his fingers and had started staring at Brendon's mouth. He hadn't stopped for years.

Ryan and Brendon had been in love the way artists and madmen loved: passionately and briefly. And then they'd learned how to love each other without the obsession, without the makeup or the spectacle. As bandmates. And Spencer had been there for all of it, steadying them both.

If there was anyone Spencer was jealous of it was Pete. Pete who loved and cherished _his_ bandmates, his gang, _and_ his proteges; who blithely talked, with a wedding ring on his finger, about Patrick being his soulmate. Who talked about Ryan as if they were best friends.

Pete had certainly been Ryan's friend, both in addition to and after being his idol, but Spencer never understood how Pete had considered them to be best friends. Ryan had never needed Pete unconsciously and desperately, consumingly. Ryan wore an emotional mask around Pete. A stripped down one, but one nonetheless.

 

Patrick shows up on his doorstep two months after the funeral, six weeks since anyone's seen him, and four days since Spencer received his weekly "Patrick and Joe update" from Andy. The regularity of Andy's calls has been soothing, if odd. They'd never been phone buddies, before.

Patrick is paper-pale and slightly bulky, but Spencer barely notices since he can't keep his eyes from drifting up: Patrick's head is shaved nearly bald. A light dusting remains, cupping Patrick's skull. Spencer's fingers twitch with the sense memory of Jon's hair at the same length and how his fingers would feel almost-numb when he rubbed at Jon's head for too long.

"Hi," Patrick breaks him out of his gawk.

"Hey," he blinks, and considers pulling Patrick into a hug. "Um." He doesn't know what to say.

"Yeah. Can I stay with you for a few days?" Patrick is squinting past Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer nods immediately. "Yeah, of course."

"Great - just," Patrick shuffles a bit and thrusts a laptop case at him, "can you carry this?" He turns and grabs the duffel and guitar cases Spencer hadn't noticed and Spencer backs up to hold the door. "Lead on."

Spencer gets Patrick settled in the room next to Brendon's and goes to find him and Ginny in the kitchen.

"What's up?" Brendon looks up from his snack.

"I think, ah, P-A-T-R-I-C-K is going to stay here for a bit," he replies, eyes flicking to Ginny. She continues precisely lining up ants on a log. Brendon's expression is insanely curious, but he just nods.

"How long is Uncle Padfoot staying?" Ginny asks as she finishes and hands one to Brendon.

Spencer bits his lip and scrunches his nose at her. "Sorry, Gin."

She shrugs her tiny shoulders. "Whatever, can I go see him?"

"Why don't you let him get settled?" Brendon says thickly, licking peanut butter off his fingers. "And make me another first."

"You can make your own. I'll make one for Padfoot." She puts her hands in her lap, in negotiating pose.

"Aww," Brendon pouts. "Please?"

"I'll make you one if we can have chocolate milk," she bargains, not looking at Spencer.

"Deal!"

Spencer rolls his eyes and heads for the fridge.

 

They give Patrick ten minutes then let Ginny run off to see him, Dylan at her heels.

"Ok, plan time!" Brendon starts cleaning up snack time, licking the peanut butter off the knife.

"Plan time?"

"Well, it's better than 'gossip time.' What'd Patrick say? Why is he here? Details, man, details!"

"I have no details," he re-opens the peanut butter and grabs the knife. "We stared at each other until he asked if he could stay. I said yes, then took him to the room closest to the studio."

"Hmm. Ryan said that Andy said that Patrick went on a, like, two week bender after the funeral, before he disappeared. Andy's turned into a little gossip, I swear."

"Yeah," he responds, too late for it to really be a response. Brendon licks the last of the peanut butter off his lip and jerks a thumb in the direction of the spare room. "C'mon."

 

Patrick stays with them for three weeks, long enough to settle into their routine. Spencer is somewhat surprised to discover that they have a routine, but Patrick's presence makes it obvious.

Patricks takes over driving Ginny to school on his last in the house day, comes back an hour later than usual with red eyes and a shaky hug for Spencer. He thanks Spencer quietly after packing up before driving off in his Civic.

Spencer's pretty sure Patrick hadn't meant the whole thing to be a test but he feels like he passed anyway.

**

Spencer calls Ryan when he's about half an hour away from home, his 'kick on speaker on the dash.

"Hey Spence!" Ryan sounds way too happy for Spencer to be comfortable.

"Hey man. I'm, like, half an hour out. Want me to pick up dinner or anything?"

"That's a good idea! So good we already had it!" If Ryan smoked up around his daughter, Spencer will report him to the cops, twenty years of friendship be damned. "There should be enough for you, but only if you hurry. We're hungry!"

Spencer speeds up before replying.

"Ok." He keeps voice level, unlike Ryan. He hasn't heard this many exclamation points in Ryan's voice since 2012. "Have you guys had a good weekend?"

"Yes! Ginny found some old pictures and asked me to do her makeup, then she did mine. After we went over a few fundamentals, of course." _Of course_, Spencer thinks, knowing that it took until Keltie sat Ryan down with a full MAC kit before _Ryan_ had learned the fundamentals. "And we had a tea party with Hobo and Dylan. Don't worry, green tea since it was after three."

"Great," he responds wryly. "Thanks for the consideration. I'll be there in fifteenish." Unless he gets a ticket.

"Cool. Be ready for Thai!" Ryan kills the connection. Spencer leaves the phone on the dash and speeds up, again.

 

Jon greets him in the mud room between the garage and the rest of the house with a carton of pad Thai and an easy smile. Spencer relaxes a fraction.

"Hey, man, join me," Jon pats the top of the dryer from his vantage point on the washer before going back to his chopsticks. "They're fine. And this is chicken, not tofu."

"Awesome," Spencer hops up as he unwraps the chopsticks left on his seat. "Who has more makeup on?" he asks after two bites.

"Ryan, dude, it's sweet. He insisted she learn the basics first, don't worry." Jon deftly grabs a bean sprout. "Cass and Hannah are here, too. He called for reinforcements."

"Were you even in town?"

Jon shrugs. "My schedule's kinda open, since the tour's canceled. I think the ladies are loving it, actually, having all this free time." Spencer knows Jon's speaking honestly and plainly about the tour but still feels a twinge of guilt. He's glad his music family is here, in his house with his new family, his post-Ginny family.

"Do _they_ have makeup on?" he wonders what crazy looks the full strength of Ginny and Ryan's persuasion could have saddled them with.

"No. Well, not now, but, yeah, they let her experiment." He leaves his chopsticks in the carton and reaches up to brush Spencer's hair out of his face. "Like they'd say no to her."

Spencer can't help but grin in pride as he leans towards Jon, into the gentle touch winding down to his neck. "Yeah, I know."

"How'd it go in L.A.?" Spencer pulls back, breaking the connection.

"Would it surprise you if I told you Pete has great lawyers?" He stabs at a piece of chicken, then abandons the chopsticks. "Big Joe tried to sue for custody. Tried to get me declared unfit to parent."

The hate and fear climbs up his throat again at the memory of the first call from Pete's attorney, the dawning realization of what might happen. "I should've expected it, I guess, but I didn't."

He lets himself rest against Jon again, lets the anger and frustration flow away from him, this time. He just sits until Jon's done snacking.

**

"Spencer, we have to stop having sex," Ryan blurts out five minutes into Spencer's diatribe against age-appropriate Halloween costumes for pre-pubescent girls.

He pauses the TiVo and stands up and heads for the backyard.

"I figured you'd have some strong feelings on the subject, but not that strong," he responds after he closes the sliding door. It's a weak, not actually a joke, and he knows it, which means Ryan knows it, but . . . what is he supposed to say?

"Ok," he adds to the silence still waiting for him. "I mean, yeah, sure." Shit. "If that's what you want."

"Spencer," Ryan says, but doesn't continue. It's not a tone Spencer recognizes.

He looks up into the sky as he sits down on the still shiny-new swing set. The day is bright and dry, nearly blinding. "Look, Ryan, --"

But he doesn't know how to continue either.

It's not like he hasn't thought about it. Doesn't think about it. There've been months where they haven't needed each other that way, where it never even crossed his mind. There have been days, mostly when they're horny or bored, where they've had sex more times than he can count. But Ryan's not the love of his life.

"Look, Ryan. I love you," Ryan's quick indrawn breath makes him roll his eyes, "but I'm not in love with you or anything like that. Sex isn't what we're all about, it's just a bonus."

They'd once had a really hilarious conversation (while they were high, so maybe not as hilarious as they thought) about the sex they'd had at various stages of their life. From the early awkward to stuff to the really kind of blase sex they had when they just wanted orgasms. The uncomfortable thing that had stuck with Spencer was the idea that he and Ryan probably used each other when normal guys'd probably just rub one out.

"Jesus christ, I'm saying this wrong, but you're not saying anything. You're not the only person I have sex with! We're always going to be friends no matter what, you know that. Just don't write a song about our tragic breakup and we should be good."

"I just - Spence, I didn't mean to do this over the phone. I'm not one hundred percent sure why I'm doing it at all, but I think," Ryan pauses, but Spencer just gives him the time this round and starts pushing back and forth in the swing. "I think," Ryan starts, slowly even for him, "that I can't end up like Pete. Not - I mean, he was happy, he loved Ash and Gin a lot. But he never got over Patrick, not really."

Spencer's surprised to find himself tearing up. "Ry, I'm sorry I haven't been with you more, after --"

"Dude, shut the fuck up. Do not say another word on that subject, ever." Before Ginny time seems so long away, somehow.

Spencer closes his eyes, hoping Ryan will understand. "Just - you should've been my first priority, ok? You would have been."

"Thank you," Ryan murmurs.

Spencer smiles into the red corona inside his eyelids. They'll always have something.

They breathe together in silencer for a while, until Ryan starts speaking again, quickly, confessionally, "Pete told me stuff, sometimes. Really, really rarely. He loved having a family so, so much but he never expected it to happen, man, he never had a chance to say goodbye to what he thought he might have, with Patrick and with the band. He'll never have a chance to, now, and I can't stand the thought of that, with us." Spencer's definitely crying, now, one wrist over his eyes, "and it's not like I'm planning to die anytime soon, but I can't leave us, um, unsaid."

_Unfinished_, Spencer thinks.

"Thank you," he repeats back to Ryan. "You fuck, why'd you have to start this over the phone. I deserve at least, like, some cuddles before I pick Ginny up."

Ryan's hyena laugh means they're ok.

 

Ryan calls back five minutes later, when Spencer's back inside fixing himself a drink.

"We should really have sex one more time, because we need to remember it. Can Brendon watch Ginny tonight?"

 

He and Ryan have been having comfort sex for so long that Spencer was sure their last time would be a whisper, not a bang. He was absolutely sure that their friendship had transcended gut-reaction lust.

It was reassuring, on some level, to know that Ryan could still surprise him.

"Ryan, oh my god, Ryan." Spencer knows he sounds drugged. He hopes he can refrain from saying something embarrassing, like "drugged on your mouth," but he's not sure.

They'd started out like normal, he's fairly sure. Rueful discussion and some reassuring making out, nakedness and some mutual dick touching. But now Ryan is swallowing his cock as if he actually loves sucking cock, not just loves Spencer and Spencer's cock. He hisses, hips pumping the air, when Ryan pulls off.

"Shut up, I'm saying goodbye. Your dick's been a constant in my life for, like, a decade." Ryan is hoarse in a way Spencer only faintly remembers.

"Not complaining, you fuck," he grouses. "Just surprised."

Ryan raises an eyebrow, flicks his eyes up from where his lips are sealed around the head of Spencer's cock. He hums interrogatively and smirks as much as he can when Spencer thrashes once.

"Maybe we should keep, like, a once-a-year option, then," he grits out as Ryan steadily sucks harder. "Jesus, are you trying to take that with you!"

Ryan pops off with a loud smacking noise. His left hand curls lightly around Spencer's in the sheets.

"No, Spence," and Spencer switches to looking at the ceiling, knows which question Ryan is answering.

Ryan sighs loudly. "C'mon, babe." Spencer snorts and Ryan swats his hip. "No, c'mon, seriously." Ryan sounds like himself: flat, unhurried. Still Ryan (still there).

"No, seriously," Spencer says, unclenching. "My dick, dude, just suck it."

"Man, I dunno," Ryan murmurs, right hand lifting his dick higher. "I got some other things to say goodbye to," and slips one of Spencer's balls into his mouth, tongue working underneath. Spencer turns his hand over on the bed, clutches Ryan's, and lets himself fully relax into Ryan. Lets Ryan say goodbye.

He spends a short eternity with Ryan between his legs, spreading wider and wider, Ryan nosing around, licking, biting, rubbing; rediscovering and absolving. When he comes, it's unexpected and fast, Ryan's tongue lightly pushing into him, thumb pressing firmly on his perineum.

He opens his eyes when he can hear again, Ryan's breath soft next to him as he nuzzles Spencer's shoulder and rubs his dick lightly against Spencer's thigh.

"I need to fuck you one last time," he whispers when Spencer's all the way back.

"Yeah." Spencer whispers back. "Yes."

**

"I'm gonna have friends over this weekend, k?" Ginny informs him when he walks in from the garage. "You might have to pick Sarah up or call Manda's mom or something." There is a sparkly crown with a pink veil on her head and a puffy satin dress draped loosely over her frame.

Spencer looks pointedly at Brendon, raising an eyebrow.

"Halloween planning meeting!" Brendon crows. "They can't all go as the _same_ princess. That's a major faux pas." He flutters his fingers, somewhere between jazz hands and spell casting. "If the planning meeting is here, Gimlet gets to pick first. She's telling me the _rules_."

"I'm Cinderella right now," Gin picks up where Brendon left off, "but I think I want to be Jasmine instead."

"Hmm." he wraps an arm around Brendon, slips his fingers into Brendon's back pocket. "A princess who wears eyeliner, I see. Cunning."

**

"I can be terribly cruel, Spencer," Ryan says into what Spencer had thought was companionable silence. All these years and sometimes he still can't tell when Ryan is stewing.

"Yeah. You can," Spencer sighs and closes his sidekick after he tells Brendon he'll pick Ginny up today. "But what'd you do now?" He slides down the couch and spreads out, tries to slow himself down, bring himself to this moment, get into Ryan space.

"I can ask a lot of you," Ryan fiddles with something on his guitar.

He stares at Ryan until Ryan shrugs and smiles wryly at him. "I know, I know," he says. He puts the guitar down then crawls over to perch on the couch arm, next to Spencer's head, out of his vision.

"I just," Ryan cards through Spencer's beard, slowly. "You're mine, forever, one way or another. For better or for worse." Spencer smacks his thigh, backhanded, then leaves his hand resting there against the warmth. "But what about other people? What right do I have to demand anything of them?"

He flips his hand over, squeezes. "Have you tried just talking to Hannah about it?" He knows he's guessed correctly when Ryan's fingers stop moving.

"I think I'm afraid to," Ryan admits. "I thought if we stopped, then I could, or something." Ryan starts tugging on the hairs at the hollow of his throat.

"You probably need to, y'know, actually _talk_ to her," he says, shifting his neck to make Ryan stop. Ryan knows it, should know it, but sometimes he needs Spencer to say it.

"Yeah," Ryan responds, right as Spencer's about to fall asleep. He has an alarm set for half an hour before school lets out.

 

The package is sitting on the counter when he and Ginny get home. After apple and cheese time (carrots were too orange), he has her start on her homework (drawing a picture of something bigger than a school chair. Spencer doesn't know why he's paying for this, sometimes. Seriously.) then opens it.

Inside the box there's an iPod Micro in bubble wrap, with a piece of notebook paper folded next to it. Spencer opens the paper slowly, knowing, somehow, that this is a moment he'll want to remember.

> "Spencer -
> 
> Thanks for letting me crash, and everything else. I've been staying with Joe since and it's been good. For both of us, I think.
> 
> We all talked about it, and the band is officially over. It's not a surprise that we don't want to, without Pete, but we had to make it official. We're not announcing it for a few weeks. There's a fucking lot of people to tell first.
> 
> Joe and I tried to write, before we decided. Maybe we can't be a band without Pete, because we never came up with any lyrics that worked.
> 
> Anyway, the iPod is full of the music that we wrote. I wanted you and Ginny to have it. If nothing else it should make good bedtime music.
> 
> Love you both,
> 
> Patrick"

Spencer decides to listen to it alone, first, after bedtime. With Brendon.

**

Spencer finds out, starts to figure it out, when Brendon winces as Ginny jumps on his shoulders as she demands a ride to bed. Brendon compromises and carries her bride style rather than on his shoulder ("hey Gimlet, how about like this?" "Like when Katherine's dead in _The English Patient_!" Spencer needs to talk to Ryan about appropriate cinema).

Brendon clearly knows he's busted when he gets back twenty minutes later, since he won't meet Spencer's eyes.

"Thanks for putting her to bed," he starts, trying to figure out how to play this. "You hurt yourself or something?"

Brendon caves immediately: "OK, ok, I'm sorry! I know I said I wouldn't again without thinking about it for, like, months, and Ryan said group approval, but I think he only meant for music related stuff, and well, here -" Brendon turns around as he pulls his shirt off.

Somewhere in all this he'd surmised that Brendon was talking about a tattoo but he gasps when he sees it, a purely physical response. "Bren," he gets out, before he steps closer.

If this were anyone else, any other tattoo, Spencer would _not_ like it. But it's perfect on Brendon. "Ginny," in what Spencer thinks is the same font as on Ryan's wrists, inside a deep red heart, surrounded by an outline of the state of Virginia.

"You're so literal!" he laughs, raising one hand to hover over the edge. Brendon's shoulders tense, subtly, and he starts to put his shirt back on.

"No, sorry, Bren," he puts the other hand on Brendon's back, just under the glossy skin. "It's perfect."

"Thank you," Brendon whispers. Spencer traces the outline, the raised line that's half flaked off, but stops when Brendon shivers.

"When?"

"Last week. It's mostly healed, just sensitive. And itchy."

"I didn't realize - thank you," Spencer knows he's been given a gift, one greater than he can comprehend. "Let me know if you need any help with it," is all he can think to say.

 

Spencer finally figures out what he's missing, what's been there for so long he'd stopped seeing it for what it was, three days later when he comes back inside after getting the mail. Brendon's sitting on the island counter, feet swinging while he eats a handful of Combos.

"You want one?" Brendon asks him around his index finger. "They're pizza flavored," he continues after he's sucked off the end of his finger with a resonant pop. "Whoah," he says when Spencer drops the mail and steps between his thighs.

Spencer licks his lips, then licks Brendon's. Brendon's not stupid, he responds immediately and then to every touch of Spencer's hands on his skin. Before he knows it he's pushed Brendon back over the counter, onto his elbows, and they're grinding in a spectacularly perfect way.

"Shit. Spencer. Spence-," Brendon cuts off with a harsh gasp. "Have you, god, have you ever been so turned on you think you're going to, like, explode? Or take over the world?"

"I normally jerk off before it gets to that," Spencer says, attempting casual. It comes out jagged. "But I think I understand."

They freeze when they hear Dylan's nails clicking in the hall. About half the time Ginny's steps would be right behind. They're lucky this time.

"Fuck, I need you to fuck me," Spencer whispers.

"Oh, god, please," Brendon lets go, falls onto his back. "Please, please, but not here where we could emotionally scar a five year old."

 

"_Thank you_," he grips Ryan's shoulder quickly after Ginny's run off to find Hobo.

Ryan smirks at him and takes Ginny's overnight bag.

 

Spencer is not unfamiliar with lust, with hasty, hot fucks in back rooms and corners, care free nights in hotels that seem to last forever. He's also comfortable with the lust of anticipation, with waiting for weeks to touch the one you love. He knows the power of that first kiss upon being reunited and the soul-shiver of the right caress at the right time.

That being said, Spencer's missed some experience somewhere because Brendon has made him lose all ability to speak, to think, to do anything but want more.

Spencer's been spread out, splayed hips raised on a pillow, his cock ignored. He's ok with that for now, since Brendon is rimming him as if his life depends on it, fingers and lips and tongue working together.

Spencer hasn't had problems with rimming since his glorious month-long affair with the Butcher. Those tattoos had been too delicious not to trace, to follow, with his fingers then his tongue, and Mrotek - Spencer respected his drumming but _adored_ his hands - had unrepentantly asked for it every single time, and then returned the favor. Spencer's been happy to pay this lesson forward.

Brendon pulls back but quickly pushes fingers into him, holding him in place.

"Later, not tonight, I'm going to make you ride my cock until you beg me to move, to roll you over and fuck you like you deserve." Brendon's breathed all this over his dick, close but never touching. Spencer tries to arch into it, needs contact, but Brendon tuts and both pushes him back with a hand on one hip and pulls him down by crooking his fingers.

Spencer moans. He loves this thick, full feeling, Brendon giving him this without asking. Brendon promising to give him more, give him as much as he can take. Maybe more, and the thought makes him shiver and moan, again, louder.

"Oh, yeah," Brendon's voice is dark, promising. "I've been waiting for that," and he adds another finger, lets Spencer arch this time, guides him away then back, unrelenting.

"Christ, Brendon, _let me come_," Spencer begs, mouth dry clicking once before he can speak.

Brendon's gaze switches from his fingers to Spencer's face and he smiles, a bright, promising grin Spencer's seen on stage - more often on video than aimed directly back at him - one Spencer can't help but mirror.

"I love that you asked, that you didn't just reach for your dick. For that, I'm going to reward you."

Spencer shouts when Brendon pulls him up, fingers against his prostate, and swallows him down, smooth and slick and easy. Spencer falls over the edge immediately.

Brendon sucks him through it, then pulls off and makes a point of meeting Spencer's eyes as he swallows. Spencer gulps for air in response and jumps a bit when Brendon's fingers start moving again.

"I'm still going to fuck you, k?"

Spencer remembers he has hands and grabs for a condom. He unwraps it and offers it up, hands unsteady. "Slow," he orders, "as slow as you can."

Brendon nods solemnly, eyes on Spencer as he reaches down. His eyebrows draw together a second later, and he finally looks away. "Ok, I'm definitely used to having two hands for this part," he bites his lip in concentration. His fingers have never paused in their slow glide inside Spencer.

Brendon pops his fingers out just as he's started to push in, and the rush of feeling is almost too much. Brendon settles in, deep, and carefully pulls Spencer's legs over his shoulders.

"C'mon, up," he pulls a bit, forcing Spencer down the bed until the pillow is mostly under his scapulae. "You wanted slow. You got it."

He draws out, holding Spencer's hips in place. It lasts forever, just on the right side of too slick. When Brendon actually pulls all the way out, Spencer whines.

"Shh, this is what you wanted," Brendon holds himself in place and pushes just past the head of his dick, then repeats that small motion until it's all Spencer can feel, his senses narrowed down to just the jarringly intimate sensation.

Finally, finally Brendon continues his thrust, still at an achingly slow speed, until he's all the way in.

**

Hannah asks Ryan to marry her so Ryan runs away, to Spencer, texting him a head's up four minutes before he arrives. Spencer still has his 'kick in one hand when they hear the garage door start to open. The code's the same as on the bus.

"I'm sorry, dude, in that way where I'm really not," Ryan informs him as he wheels his Yves Saint Laurent luggage in from Spencer's garage. He goes right past the three of them, snuggled on the couch and heads for the master bedroom.

Brendon shoots a glance at Spencer. Spencer just smiles faintly in response to Brendon's lone raised eyebrow, attention still mostly on the movie. Both of Brendon's eyebrows shoot up and a cheesy grin spreads over his face just as Ryan comes padding back out, slower, luggage still behind him.

Ginny stays focused on Mary Poppins.

Ryan observes the three of them for a minute. Spencer doesn't turn away from Ryan's gaze, just leans further into the couch, into his family. Brendon's smile stays firm as he smooths Ginny's hair.

"Right, ok," Ryan sighs and blinks. "Yeah, yeah yeah," he flops one hand grandly at them, then heads in the opposite direction, to the guest bedrooms.

"That was it?" Brendon whispers over Ginny's head.

Spencer whaps him on the head, gently, then rolls his eyes. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Sweet!" Brendon exclaims loudly, pumping one hand in the air.

Ginny kicks Brendon, who mutters an apology, then kisses the top of her head. Spencer can't resist leaning in, over Gin, for his own slightly longer version.

"Be right back," he whispers with a wink and hops up to follow Ryan.

Ryan's luggage is abandoned just inside the door and Ryan is curled up in the middle of the bed, nesting in the blankets and re-reading _A Canticle for Leibowitz_. He kicks off his loafers and stretches out next to Ryan.

"I know it's been nearly three years," Ryan flips a page. Spencer rests a hand lightly on Ryan's side and starts sweeping his thumb gently up and down. "It's not like I don't love her, I do," Ryan continues, reaching up to drop the book above their heads.

"I know," Spencer responds, waiting as Ryan just stares at the ceiling.

"She makes me really happy." Ryan continues again, slower. "Like, ridiculously happy."

"Yeah."

Ryan turns to look at him. "I don't know why I'm freaking out," he admits, closing his eyes, and Spencer scoots forward to actually wrap his arms around Ryan. Ryan sometimes still breaks his heart.

"Oh, Ryan," he lets escape. "It's all kinda screwed up, I know," he whispers, "but you've already written her four love songs, and I think you trust her not to break your heart." He swallows, wrinkles his nose at Ryan, "and you kinda broke up with me for her, so-"

Ryan pushes against him, "Spence, it wasn't-"

"Part of it was, Ry. It is." He laughs a bit, a happier sound that he would have thought. "Trust me, if it were just you being on the straight side of bi, you would have cut me off a while ago. Honestly, after all the soul searching you've been doing you didn't realize that you're completely in love with her?" he snorts. "Seriously?" and he shouldn't, but he starts giggling.

"Oh my god, stop!" Ryan whines before he slaps at Spencer's chest, weakly. And then they're giggling and batting at each other like they're 12 again. Spencer keeps repeating "oh my god!" mockingly until Ryan clamps a hand over his mouth.

"Ok, shut up," he rolls off, away but not far.

When Spencer stops giggling, Ryan rolls back towards him, tension gone, "Thanks."

Spencer smiles back at him, softly. "Maybe we're growing up."

Ryan widens his eyes exaggeratedly then rolls them. "Speak for yourself. Brendon, really?"

"I remember a time _you_ tapped that, so don't even start," Spencer rolls his eyes in return.

"Does he still make those sounds, real sex sounds, that are freakishly close to his fake sex sounds on stage?" Ryan's eyes are gleaming with humor and affection.

He stretches, doing his best to look post coital. "Mmm, yes. And he brings me coffee in bed." Spencer rubs at his lips and lets his eyes fall to half mast. "He's very, hmm, energetic I'll put it."

"Wow," Ryan deadpans. "It's a good thing we're not having sex anymore, that's a pretty tempting lounge you have going on there."

**

When Brendon and Spencer come out for breakfast the table is set for three in the very best tea party tradition: biscuit plates, cups and saucers, and a teapot that Spencer would wager is empty. Virginia's sitting at the head of the table, the crusts of two pop tarts heaped on her plate. She straightens into an imperial pose when they enter.

"Good morning?" he tries.

"_Good_ morning," she replies, and he can tell she's trying for stern. "We need to talk."

He turns to Brendon, "Please, please make me some coffee." Brendon's eyes crinkle at him and he receives a quick kiss to the cheek before Brendon starts towards the coffee pot.

Ginny's, "no, BOTH of you," stops them.

Brendon looks at him uneasily. Spencer nods without looking over and sits delicately next to her. He waits until Brendon's settled before asking, "May I have some tea, then?"

She wavers, but holds strong. "No, not yet." She bites her lip and glances at Brendon. "It's juice, anyway."

He has to fight a smile. "What's up?"

She folds her tiny hands on the table and straightens her back. "I'm almost six now. And I feel it's time that I get a bigger say in what happens around here."

Spencer blinks.

"Ok," he starts, "in what way?"

"Can we go somewhere snowy for Christmas?" She asks, in a rush, not pausing before she hurries on. "Pepaw promised we'd go somewhere snowy for Christmas someday." She stops there, the hint of tears in her eyes, and Spencer has no words to describe the ache in his chest; his hands are leaden and Ginny's face is resolute and scared and he never wants to promise her anything, ever, he just wants to give her everything she wants the moment she wants it. His hands are shaking as he stands halfway up and reaches for her, but Brendon answers, smooth and calm, one hand already cupping hers.

"We'll go wherever you want for Christmas, Gin. All of us. Not every year, but definitely this year."

Spencer's left halfway up, watching his almost-daughter and his kinda-boyfriend. Brendon looks up at him. "Sometimes you just can't wait any longer."

He wavers for a moment, then stands, knocking his chair over, and sweeps Ginny up out of hers. He swings them both, easy as a drum lick, into Brendon's space, holding Gin between them as he rests against the table. "You're ours, Gimlet, forever. No one would ever leave you willingly." He trails off, worried he's betraying Pete somehow. He looks at Brendon pleadingly.

"Any more demands your highness?" Brendon covers for him, just the right tone to make everything easier, turn it into enough of a joke.

"I miss being on tour. Can you guys go on tour? Ooh! Can we tour _Europe_!?"

Brendon's wide eyes meet his over her head. "We'll talk about THAT one later, little miss. There are other people who have a say in that."

"I'll call Jon!" Ginny offers. "I bet he wants to tour!"

Spencer tightens his arms around them, a bit overwhelmed. "What do you remember about touring?" Sometimes he forgets what being Pete's daughter must have meant for her. She starts chattering about the quality of donuts in Mississippi and Brendon's laughing and joining in and Spencer can't believe this his life but he wouldn't have it any other way.

**

Spencer's skin is unblemished. He can admire the artistry of Brendon's tattoos, the significance of Ryan's, and the secrecy of Jon's, but he's never felt the need to have his skin inked.

If he had, before Ginny, he might have gotten a kit or a set of sticks, crossed. Maybe something from the cover art of their third album. Something about the band, probably, since he'll always carry them with him anyway.

He doesn't want her name, as much as he loves Brendon's tattoo, or anything too straight forward. What he wants is something that shows how your life can change, drastically and at once, and how that can be just as real, how it doesn't have to be a tragedy. How life goes on.

He takes all of this, his half formed ideas and loves, to Brendon's artist, Ernie. He found the card in Brendon's wallet. They talk for nearly an hour, Ernie sketching ideas that are incorporated or discarded or changed. Spencer takes the final sketch with him, in his wallet, and keeps looking at it, to make sure.

Ernie agrees to open early on Thursday, so Spencer can come straight from dropping Ginny off at school. He wakes Brendon up with coffee in bed. Ginny's already up, eating cereal and watching PalPals! on the Tivo. She refused to leave until she caught up on a REAL tv, not the one in the car, so Spencer has just enough time.

Brendon's eyes aren't open, but he's half sitting, leaning on the headboard. Spencer woke at 3 to his whispered apologies and a demanding nudge from his elbows. When he'd rolled over to face Brendon he'd received more heartfelt apologies and some soft, happy kisses that trailed into a triumphant story about a _great_ new riff, still stuck in Spencer's head from Brendon humming while they'd kissed. Brendon had fallen asleep telling him about the drum rolls he wants Spencer to add.

"This is the good coffee," Brendon startles him out contemplating his own cup.

"Yes."

"So, this isn't some type of punishment for waking you, I don't think. Not that you're not that type of perverse. What's up?"

"I want you to come with me to take Gin to school today." Spencer is careful to use an I-phrase, mentally rolling his eyes as he does.

"Can I wear pyjamas?"

"No. You don't anyway." Spencer eyes Brendon's boxer briefs, a formality; entire tours know Brendon sleeps naked.

"Well, no, but it'd be cool." Brendon finally opens his eyes. They're suspiciously bright and definitely laughing at him.

"I have an appointment, after, and I'd like it if you'd come with me."

"Ok, sure. Where?" Brendon pushes himself up with one arm, until he's all the way up, and pulls his knees to his chest defensively. His coffee stays miraculously steady in his other hand.

"I went and talked to Ernie," something about Brendon, now, looking slightly fragile, just like he feels, lets him be honest, "and I think I need you there while I do this."

Brendon blinks then grins. "Thank you, babe," he stage-whispers. "Of course I'll come with you, all you have to do is ask." He's said it all openly, easily. Honestly. "I love you. Like, a lot."

Spencer didn't realize, really, how much he _needed_ this from Brendon. Brendon is open-faced and serious, but nervous underneath. Spencer doesn't think many people would be able to see the nerves inside the honesty. He puts his coffee on the side table, pulls Brendon's to join it, then curls up next to him and pulls them back down into their bed.

"I love you, too," he barely breathes when Brendon's ear is close enough. "I love you so much, B, and I'm sorry I never say it," he has all of these words, now, words he didn't know were inside. "I love the three of you, the band, I couldn't not, but I'm in love with _you_," he stops to clear his throat, "and it's really weird sometimes. And there's Ginny, and I thought I couldn't, with her, but you love her, too, you protect her and you love both of us, and she'll be ok, she really will." He stops, finally, secrets revealed, his mouth now pressed against Brendon's neck. "I'm sorry," he repeats, unable to stop himself, feeling Brendon is somehow owed an apology.

"God, Spencer," Brendon's voice is dark, thick. "I can't _believe_ you." Spencer tries not to tense. "I knew, of course I knew," Brendon grabs his hand and kisses it, then pulls at him and starts kissing anywhere he can.

Spencer's light, now, floating. He starts laughing, letting the crescendo in his head escape. Dylan wakes up and jumps onto the bed and starts nosing at them, but Brendon doesn't stop until Ginny runs in, yelling she's going to be late to school if they don't leave _right now_, so they need to stop making out, eww!, and drive her to school. She scoops Dylan up and runs back out, adding another _right now!!_ as she goes.

Brendon kisses him one last time, on the forehead, and waits to yell "DO YOU HAVE YOUR SNACK?" until he's jumped up and started putting on yesterday's clothes. Spencer lets himself relax into the bed for a quick second before rolling off and slipping his white Gucci loafers back on. They're ready to go.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first thing I started to write in bandom, back in October 2007. Back before _Pretty. Odd._ had even a tentative release date, before I learned what it means to love Pete Wentz. There are things I'd change if I started writing this again now, changes in the way I see their characterization but this is a love letter to this fandom and I am proud of it.
> 
> This would not exist in any way shape or form without [**schuyler**](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/). Thank you so much for getting me into this fandom and then supporting me even when I immediately decided to kill Pete.
> 
> Thanks as well to the dozen or so people who have listened, supported, nodded, encouraged and deleted commas.


End file.
